God Always Geometrizes

I crave the drama
of being with men

who pretend to be bigger
than God.

Who decide to forget nature
beneath a blue-orange sky.

            I turn inside out
            like a carcass. You raise

the Stag’s head
with your moan, wash

my shoulders in the river
while the stag watches.

            The Stag is
            a faggot / Adam’s

            beloved / a pageant
            on four legs.

On your way to work, the Stag follows
dragging his cloven feet through mud;

chasing down the wet debt you avoid
as your wife’s voice floods the car’s speakers.

            My silence dissolves
            in small doses. A string

            breaks while you’re inside—
            mess all over the carpet.

The Stag leads a faggot
parade past your office.

Coworkers gossip but
do not ask you to clean up.

//

Duncan Slagle is a queer poet and performer from Alaska & then Minnesota, currently attending the University of Wisconsin-Madison as a First Wave Scholar. Duncan’s work has appeared in The Adroit Journal, Vinyl, BOAAT, Palette Poetry, Hobart, and The Shallow Ends. The winner of the 2018 Crab Creek Review Poetry Prize, the 2018 Mikrokosmos Poetry Prize, and a 2019 Epiphany Breakout 8 Prize, Duncan has more work online at duncanslagle.com.